Those Pretty Wrongs That Liberty Commits
by Shiva12
Summary: After their wedding, Padme and Anakin head off to consummate it... but problems arise, problems so great that it makes them question their relationship and their love.
1. Prologue to the Problem

"Those Pretty Wrongs That Liberty Commits…"

Archive: Fanfiction.net

Rating: PG-13 for situations only teenagers and adults can understand!

Notes: If you have not watched _Star Wars: Episode II—Attack of the Clones_, the beginning of the story will be a spoiler. Also, the thing with the hand: don't worry about it; it's just for the sake of the story.

Disclaimer: _Star Wars_ and all its characters belong to George Lucas and company. I only use them for entertainment purposes.

***

Prologue to the Problem 

***

It had been a small, private ceremony that lacked the usual pompousness from a Galactic Senator. There were barely any witness, except for the two silent droids and the gentle-faced, older Naboo Holy Man, a man of great countenance and honor, but honest and knowledgeable in hurried marriages such as the one he was performing. Nonetheless, he stared upon the great pair with happy, gracious eyes and spoke nothing but the ceremonial words needed of him. He had to admit that, despite their hurry, they had chosen a wonderful spot and a wondrous time of day in which to perform the ceremony. The Holy Man could not help but appreciate the beauty of the soft colors consuming the bluest sky, and the delicate clouds riding along without a worry. The bride, he noticed, added only to the beauty of the dusking day, and the groom appeared to be a handsome asset to the young bride he was attending to. He knew perfectly well who she was: she had not tried to hide identity from him—in fact, she had presented herself as "Senator Amidala" without so much as a flinch. At that moment he had acknowledged her great courage and had applauded her, albeit mentally. It was not everyday that a powerful—and beautiful—Galactic Senator married. Of course, he had been shocked—no, surprised—at her choice for a future husband: it was _not everyday_ that a Senator married a JEDI. 

     He cleared his throat to bring the obviously love-struck couple back to the reality that was their marriage. He had never in his fifty years of life seen such a pair of lovers. He had seen pairs very much in love, that he could not deny, but this specific couple was so, so—so _different_. The warmth and tenderness in the Jedi's eyes was pure and untainted, almost as if he had loved her his entire life. As for her, she appeared more restrained and hesitant—her eyes, unfortunately, glinted at the true love she felt. He smiled warmly and blessed them accordingly, and he read the deep gratitude both of them held in their eyes. The sun's rays were now deepening considerably and the sky no longer held its soft, precious color. Now, it was tainted a bloody red, a red so powerful that the Holy Man almost considered it an inauspicious sign. 

_Doomed to failure you say, my bloody sky? Doomed?_

_Doomed to what, my bloody sky? To what?_

He shook his head and watched them seal their marriage with a promising kiss.

***

ONWARD…


	2. Commencement of Heaven

"Those Pretty Wrongs that Liberty Commits…"

Archive: Fanfiction.net

Rating: PG-13 

Disclaimer: _Star Wars_ and all its characters belong to George Lucas and company. I only use them for entertainment purposes.

***

_Commencement of Heaven_

"A Jedi Shall Not Know Anger…"__

***

They turned away from the comfortable position on the balcony once the sun had disappeared and the atmosphere was colored a somber black. With her flowing robes, Padmé began the descent of the stairs slowly, wishing to savor the powerful emotion she was feeling at that very moment. He followed close behind her, his steps matching hers, his body heat evident in the cool night. The click of her shoes was audible in the questioning silence, but she did not seem to care as she stepped into the ferry that had originally taken her there in the first place. Comfortably seated, she waited for Anakin to settle beside her, and was quite pleased when he did. Wasting no more space, the former Jedi wrapped his good arm around her dainty waist and neared her to him amazingly slow, as if he was admiring every perfect feature his wife had to offer that night. She smiled and blushed, and turned her head away abruptly, teasing him into finally gently grabbing her chin and make her look at him. His soul-searching eyes, happy yet sad, suddenly danced as he made his way to her mouth lovingly, grasping her lips with controlled force and almost unattainable sexuality. He took his time in savoring her, making her lips as well as her body pliant. His hand remained adamantly on her waist and never strayed, much to Padmé's relief.

     Her parents had conveniently left on a trip to visit family on the other hemisphere of Naboo, and had given Padmé the key with great care and warning. Padmé remembered her mother's warning look directed to both her and the Jedi standing there oddly calm. Sola, her beloved sister and confidante, also decided to leave, using a rather pathetic excuse. She had kissed and hugged her sister, picked up Ryoo and Pooja, and whispered something inaudible in Anakin's ear that made him grin rather sheepishly. And now, both were walking towards the impossibly beautiful retreat wrapped in shimmering light provided by the stars. At the sight, Padmé slowed her hasty steps and admired the beauty and grace of such a fine structure.

     She was nervous, though she hid it from her husband. Before, she had taken much pride in never being nervous—if one could step in front of Senators more numerous than the stars and speak openly of galactic matters, then there was nothing to fear. If one could survive attacks made on one's life, then there was nothing to fear. If one could survive an arena overflowing with battle droids, monsters, _and _murderers, then there was nothing to fear. 

     Yet, now she feared something. She loved Anakin with her whole heart, admired his grace and skill, and fell in love with his boyishly handsome face and eyes that could burn her alive. Simply put, she was in love with his whole being. But now, as they approached and neared the retreat, the reality of the current situation was dawning upon her. She would have no reception, no great party announcing her joyous union with the man she loved for fervently, no incredible gifts of light and sound. And though this did not matter to her, the event that was edging its way closer into her existence did. A reception she could do without; a party she could excuse; and gifts she could forgive.

     But what of the impending wedding night? Suddenly, the idea of intimacy was an issue. The man delicately holding her waist was no longer a boy. And though she had admitted days before that he was "all grown-up," it now began to feel… 

Strange.

     She breathed in deeply, but did not smile when his soft lips planted a hungry kiss on her swan-like neck. Instead, she tensed up immediately, and almost pulled away when he turned her to look at him.

     "You look beautiful," he whispered, noticing her blush of embarrassment as she looked away. 

     The feeling was becoming stronger… "Thank you," she responded rather diplomatically, as if she was used to being admired lovingly every day of her Senatorial life. Unconsciously, she was furthering herself from him, pushing her body away from his dominating fire—and the feeling tugging at her soul would not leave her alone.

     Anakin refused to acknowledge the strange happenings occurring to his wife. He assumed that she was rather nervous, and was trying to buy whatever time she could in order to stall the inevitable. He smiled at the thought, but blushed when he began to shift his thought process to the horribly sexy things he would to her, which would then culminate into one singular scream of irrepressible pleasure… "I love you," he claimed, and kissed her lips again. As his lips connected with hers, Padmé's eyes widened as she realized the need evident in his touch. She watched, utterly fascinated, as his soft hand caressed her right cheek with undying love and devotion, but then trailed slowly down, past her fine features and down to elegant neck, stroking her vulnerable skin. The feeling was intensifying, attacking her senses and perception rather awkwardly.

     Then, sluggishly, the feeling began taking form. Her stomach churned and flopped restlessly about her body, almost telling her to further herself from Anakin as much as possible. In the beginning, when her feelings for him were developing, her stomach had churned also, but in a comfortable, slight matter. She knew it was merely her mind reminding her of the consequences that would arise from her actions if she finally did decide to fulfill her love with him. But now, her stomach was doing more than just warning her—this was no warning. Nervousness she had felt before, but the characteristics she was exhibiting were far beyond the plains of uneasiness. Her blood began a slow boil—not a blush, she concluded—but a complete rebuttal of the sensory explosion his lips were causing. His good arm would not stay still: it moved about her face and back, touching and caressing her in ways unimaginable to her. She felt him lift her and walk the short distance to the retreat without ever breaking the kiss and the hold he had upon her. As the threshold loomed, Padmé's eyes widened to their fullest extent as she noticed the soft curves of the opening and the rich furniture inside. _What is happening to me?_ she begged inwardly. _This feeling? What is it? It is not nervousness…_ She kept her eyes wide open as Anakin easily climbed the steps leading to her bedroom, and focused intently on the round dining room table and its golden decoration. His mechanical arm opened the door and she uttered a sound, which Anakin mistook to be a pleasurable moan. Padmé's body would not move and lay unresponsive to his kiss. He set her down gently on the floor and once again neared her to him. Accidentally, his mechanical fingers came in contact with her porcelain skin and she realized what the feeling, which had manifested itself into a churning stomach, boiling blood, and increased heartbeat, was. 

     Disgust.

     Revulsion.

     Padmé was boiling over with complete and utter repugnance. The thought of taking this loving man to her bed was creating sensations of detestation. 

As soon as the realization washed over her completely, the dark shadow of sadness enfolded her within its embrace. She broke their physical union with quick movements, unclasped his arm from around her waist and stepped back, the shame burning her face in the semi-darkness of her sleeping complex. Her feet forced her to step back hesitantly whenever he made a motion of stepping to her, and her head was turned from his confused sight. The stillness in the air hung thick like a heavy veil, and only Padmé's breaths and Anakin's baffled question pierced the stifling stillness.

His eyes, confused and innocent, seemed to ask the question for him. "Padmé?" As if on cue, Padmé clasped her arms about her upper body, and held herself. "Is there something the matter?" he continued, his voice worried and child-like. He breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself, trying to gain some semblance of a thought in an otherwise strange situation. He stared at her agile movements: the way she edged herself closer to the wall instead of him, how her eyes remained solemnly fixated on the richly-carpeted floor, her fingers clenching and unclenching in unease as he questioned her. He flexed his mechanical arm warily, and he heard the mechanical hiss audible only to his ears. Had he done something wrong? It seemed improbable; he was not pushing the woman against her will—was he? The patience he forced himself to have was to savor the moment they would spend on their wedding night, a most crucial night of consummation and physical love. Anakin tried to discover what sudden movement he had caused to make her recoil from him so. Was it his kiss? No, he decided, it could not have been. They were languorous actions meant to pleasure her instead of scare her. His caress? Had it been his caress? He momentarily pondered this and once again decided that it was impossible. His hand had trailed, yes, but only to rest upon her smooth neck now filled with tense muscle.

"Don't shut yourself from me, Love," he assured her. "Just tell me. Did I do something"—he hesitated once the blush passed—"wrong? Uncomfortable?" He kept his voice steady and soft, without anger, but bursting with concern. He stared at his formal Jedi robes and inspected every seam and patch of fabric, looking to find some disgusting creature nestled about his clothes. He sniffed the air about him unnoticeably, straining to catch the abhorred scent. Instead, he smelled only her illustrious perfume reminiscent of exotic flowers and strength. Finally, he handed his mechanical arm a solemn stare and forced his gaze upon her, eyes cooled and somewhat chilled, no longer burning.

He held the arm up, letting the long Jedi sleeves fall from their place and reveal the skeletal-like arm. He, like so many other times, flexed the fingers clearly within the space she admitted between them. The glint caught her eyes and she stared impassively as he demonstrated the movement of the arm for her.

"The arm, possibly?" he offered. She shifted her gaze from the arm to his beautiful face. He sighed, a thoroughly exhausted release of breath. "I understand that it may frighten you, but bear with me," he told her, the sadness creeping in his voice. Could she—would she—refuse him for the arm? True, the arm was somewhat a strange apparition, but not completely detestable. He offered what he thought would serve as an icebreaker. 

"They've taken some of my skin cells and found a way to grow skin on the arm. It'll take two, three days maximum." His breath was coming in uneven intervals. "Why won't you speak, Padmé?" he finally demanded desperately. Tired of standing where he was, he closed the gap between them. He gasped when he caught sight of her teary eyes and coolly passionate gaze. 

His eyes forced themselves to adjust to the dim lighting of the room. The desperation was driving him insane and the silence offered no care. In his state of agitation he could not convene with the Force, and tried as he might, he knew perfectly well that he could not move any closer to her than he already was. 

Anakin shifted uncomfortably, finally falling into that place where he let his inhibitions out… "Speak to ME!" he demanded. He watched her choke back her oncoming sob and wince painfully at his forceful scream laced with desperate worry. "Please," he whispered, letting his hand touch her bare arm, "please." Her twitch at his touch was evident. He narrowed his eyes and turned around, walking till he reached his original spot. 

Padmé unclasped her hands and looked at him, her sweet, brown eyes on the verge of flooding tears. How could her nagging feeling destroy the most joyous day of her life? "I," she began. Anakin's eyes were lifted, and he smiled in joy when she spoke. 

"I—I," explained Padmé, "I can't do this, Anakin. I cannot."

"But--?"

She held he palm up, blocking his face from her sight, demanding silence. Her eyes closed in pain. "No, don't ask. Not tonight. Not now…"

Padmé Naberrie Amidala-Skywalker turned away from her husband and entered her personal washing complex, closed the door, locked it, and sobbed quietly.

Anakin, shocked, finally collapsed on the comfortable mattress, an astonished gape lining his features, his eyes haunted by her fleeting memory.

What had he done wrong?

***

BEGINNING.


	3. Scald of Heaven

"Those Pretty Wrongs That Liberty Commits…"

Archive: Fanfiction.net

Rating: PG-13

Notes: My view on how it's all going to go down… Not necessarily OOC…

Disclaimer: _Star Wars_ and all its characters belong to George Lucas and company. I only use them for entertainment purposes.

***

Scald of Heaven 

"Nor Hatred…"

***

Padmé emerged from her washing complex the next morning. Her chestnut mane fell about her shoulder in a pretty mess of complicated curls, and she wore only a comfortable shift she had discovered among her things the tumultuous night before. Wearing no robe and donning puffy chocolate eyes red with crying, she—rather unsteadily—took a few tangible steps forward, her eyes peering among her sunbathed room. The heavy curtains had been opened, she noticed, and a fresh vase of Naboo blossoms delicately decorated her vanity table. Her gaze finally fell upon her bed: fully done and crisp, almost as if no one had slept there—or made love there. She pursed her lips in a sad gesture and stepped out completely from the complex, bathing in the sun's glowing light.

"You look good even now," a voice declared. It was deep and musical, consisting of soothing harmonies and melodies Padmé loved to hear. She whizzed her head quickly to the right to find her husband leisurely reclining against the wall, his upper body bare and tanned. He was wearing the brown pants from the night before, and his boots were upon his feet, clasped and prepared for battle. He looked so…

     She had to delay the pouring questions one way or another. "Thank you." She glanced at him, and was chilled by his calculating gaze. "I'm going to breakfast now. Will you join me?"

     _This is nothing like her_, Anakin though, _nothing. What is she hiding? WHAT HAVE I DONE WRONG?!_ "No, I don't think I will," he replied lazily. He was still leaning against the wall.

     She continued with the useless banter. "Really? Why?"

     "Because you and I must speak."

     Anger flashed momentarily in her features. She closed her lips resolutely and hardened her gaze, an eyebrow shooting up. Unconsciously, she pouted her lips slightly, adding to the cold gaze she was administering upon her husband. "Speak?" she echoed. "What must we speak of?"

     Anakin recognized her defense mechanism almost immediately. When angered or highly flustered over a somewhat trivial matter, Padmé tended to ignore, run away from, or completely forget the situation she was involved in. Even now, she picked the waist of her long shift and held it up diplomatically as she made her way to the door of her bedroom. No longer reclining, Anakin was now walking towards her, resolution burning within him.

     Padmé noticed the extremely close proximity he was in. His pleasant breath tickled her ear… "I just wanted to know why"—he breathed in shakily—"why my own _wife_ would not consummate our marriage."

     Crestfallen, her shoulders slumped considerably and her head fell to her breast. The curls, in a wondrous sight, rushed from their places and ran with he movement, completely masking her face from view. "It's not that—"

     "What is it then?" he question solemnly. "Tell me."

     "I can't, Anakin." 

     Thoroughly confused and flustered, Anakin moved from his place and placed himself resolutely in front of her glorious figure. He searched her for an answer of some sort and instead received nothing. His old friend, Worry, came back to his side. "Why? Tell me, please!" he urged. "I'm tired of repeating myself, Padmé. You can't keep me in the dark! _Don't_ keep me in the dark!"

     His voice was almost to the point of breaking and shouting at her, but he kept it in check. In a desperate move, he crouched lower and lifted her chin, and lay kisses on her smooth forehead, her dainty nose, her pliant lips. It was feverish, tedious work, but he continued relentlessly, all the while whispering, "Why, my Love? Why? Tell me. Gods, Padmé, tell me."

     The kisses lasted only a few brief moments before she tore herself away from him in shame. Shocked, surprised, and more than a bit angry, he caught her arm gently when she tried to get out of the room. She did not turn, but the determination to leave the room was there, etching its way into her face and body language. She stood, her hand held by Anakin's, his forehead against the back of her head, his breathing a bit distorted.

     She closed her eyes and entwined her elegant fingers with his. "You and I," she whispered. 

     "Yes."

     "This is _so_ wrong, Anakin, _so_ wrong!"

     He widened his eyes. "What?" he asked her. "What? This marriage, Padmé? The love we feel?"

     She was trying her best to conceal her feelings from him. Padmé, ruthless at times as she was, did not want to cause the love her life any type of pain. She knew that her revelation would cause instantaneous grief—grief so harsh and unforgiving that it would probably kill him in the process. But he urged her, whispering the same questions over and over again, demanding answer, wanting to know. His fingers clenched hers until she was almost sore.

     "Oh, Annie," she began. Quick as lightning, Anakin lifted his head, released her hand, and steeped back. 

     Shock. "You haven't called me _that_ since…" His eyes firstly narrowed and then widened, and then his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. This was not making sense to him. This enigmatic equation Padmé had set up was hard to solve, puzzling to answer. 

     "This has nothing to do with the marriage, does it, Padmé?" 

     "No." She affirmed his response so quickly that it stung his very soul.

     "Nor of your love towards me."

     "No." The puzzle pieces were falling into place so far. But that one piece, that crucial piece that was the answer, still loomed in the horizon, far away from his reach. In a second, he turned away from her and faced the large, decadent windows, his body straightened. The subject had changed, inexplicably so. 

     Anakin's inhale of fresh air suited more the means of preparation of a great blow than anything else. He was releasing the breath at regular intervals, hesitantly at first, and then with definition. 

     "Why did we not consummate the marriage last night? Why did you refuse me?" The last question he asked with great difficulty.

     Padmé herself inhaled deeply, thoughts whirling through her mind. She knew she had to tell him one way or another, and she knew that he would press her until he received what he wanted. Therefore, in preparation of the outpour of emotion that was sure to come, the Senator of Naboo straightened, her back straighter than the time she had worn that impossibly tight leather corset, placed her hands solemnly next to her, and shakily spoke.

     "I… love you to death, Anakin, I really do." He shivered when he heard "really do." She continued. "But the thought of you in my bed, sharing that intimacy… well, scares me to death."

     He had feared the worst. "But that's natural," he explained, appearing more like a professor than anything else. "You were nervous, Padmé, as was I. It's a reaction…"

     "You are not listening to me, Anakin." Her voice was no longer calm or loving. It was now forceful and demanding. It caused him to turn and stare at her, his eyes full and innocent like that of a dog's.

     He formed the words after a few moments. "I don't understand."

     She moved her arms, trying to convey the rush of emotion speeding through her, trying to show the feeling that would not leave her body alone. With a shaky breath and an equally shaky step, she spoke.

     "The thought of the intimacy does more than just scare me to death." _A bad dream, this is a bad dream…_ "You know how I handle fear, Anakin. I'll stare it in the face, and die with it if I have to. But this"—she pointed to her the clean sheets laid upon her bed—"this is more than fear."

     It came. "This is repulsion." 

     _Explosion. Explosion of madness. Explosion._ Anakin's eyes widened so much that he strained to see the scene in front of him. He thanked the Force that he was not facing her when she told him this because he knew that if her eyes has caught sight of his, he would have buckled under the pain. His knees began a small quake, but he stopped the movement. His head fell sorrowfully, the braid gently caressing his skin as it settled against the crook of his neck. By the Force, it hurt! Those words, those fateful words, were crumbling the perfect world he had created in his mind. _Repulsion?_ he asked himself. _But, how is that possible?_ He wanted to sob like a child, to let the emotions flooding his body crash on something else, to let him be. This was not fair, he decided, not fair at all. HE HAD DONE NOTHING WRONG! His intentions were good, unrushed—suggestive, yes, but not forceful. Yet, she still could not stand the thought of being with him and felt hatred at holding him in her arms after lovemaking. How could the woman that he had loved for ten harsh years hurt him in such a way that was causing more pain then when he lost his arm? How?

     Padmé noticed his breathing: it was unpleasant and quite unlike his normal, steady breaths. _Maybe it's best if I leave him_, she thought sadly. Acting on pure feeling, she turned and made her way to the automatic doors.

     "I repulse you?"

     She stopped and spoke. "Not _you_, just—"

     "The thought of being with me?" he offered. He was stricken with grief when she nodded earnestly. 

     He knew that asking her any more questions would only make the situation more delicate than it already was. Unfortunately, his penchant for speaking out of turn was taking over his vulnerable being.

     "You know," he said, "I've waited my whole life for you." _Hmm,_ he contemplated, _not much of a revelation for the all-powerful Senator_. His calloused arm reached for the velvet drape in front of him. He grabbed it and closed his powerful fist around it, using it as a form of release for the pain, hurt, anguish… and anger consuming him. He saw the calm swaying of the ocean breeze play with the indigenous plants, the swell of the water about the retreat, and the impossibly bright rays of the sun create a spectacle of light with the glass window. _I hate sand._ Before, he had thought that he and Padmé were like the ocean: rough and forever in motion, but unwavering and temperate at the same time. But now he realized that it was not so. He was like the fire from the sun: stunning and full of heat, but far, far away from ever reaching his true love. But this pain, this pain, this pain…

     He heard her soft sigh of defeat. "I've had ten years of slavery, ten years of training, and it all comes down to this one, singular day—a day I thought could change our lives." He released a dry, sarcastic chuckle. "But, um, it seems that this day has turned out to be the worst day of my life."

     "You don't under—"

     "Yes, yes I do, Padmé!" he finally screamed. Padmé was surprised at the tone of his voice. He had never screamed directly at her, and it was a frightening thought for her to think of. She knew the grief would be intense, but the biting anger he held in his voice was immeasurable. His voice was on the edge of breaking, held in place only by twinges of genuine hurt. The drape became easily detached from its rightful place on the window and landed on the floor soundlessly and effortlessly.

     A wordless intonation left his throat. "My life as a Jedi… I gave it all up! All up for you! For you!" Her eyes widened, but she felt that she had done nothing wrong. He wanted truth—she gave it to him. It was not a sugar-coated confection meant to be enjoyed; it was a bitter, resentful admittance that she tried to hold of. But this, this about giving up the Order for her was preposterous! _I told him! I warned him!_

     "I never asked you to."

     He turned to her. "Never asked me to do what?" 

     She raised her head proudly and pushed the curls back. Her face, resolute and harsh, spoke quite clearly for her.

     "_I_ never told you to leave the Order. It was your choice."

     Again? Once again the woman killed him? _But how is this possible?_ he asked himself bitterly. _How could she?_

     He narrowed his eyes and crossed his hands behind his sculpted back. "What?" he questioned.

     "I already told you," she explained diplomatically—automatically-without feeling: unresponsive, cold, "that I never told you to leave the Order. Your choice… your consequence."

     "Take it back," he responded immediately. It was now her turn to narrow her eyes in what seemed to be more than just anger. She watched his body tense considerably: his thin, sculpted muscles were tense and he was flushed with fury. His usually unmoving fingers began a series of irritated compressions and his knuckles were blanching. Padmé took in his change stoically, but she _did_ take a step back. She felt the waves of rage radiate from him, and she was shocked to discover that she could feel them surround her. _You've angered me, my Love_, she acknowledged, _you've hurt me. I am filled with grief and dying hope, but you still struggle._ _Talk to me in your soft tones, Anakin. PLEASE!_ A ringing was filling her ears, a painful sound that was trying to avoid his oncoming tirade. 

     Anakin contorted his face in what seemed to be genuine alarm and a dull ache. But soon enough, the rage was becoming more and more visible… 

     "TAKE IT BACK! How could you be so _cruel_?" he asked, emphasizing "cruel." "I gave up the possibility of becoming a powerful Jedi for you"—he pointed at her with a shaking finger and teary eyes—"and for this! For you and I to be together, for you and I to enjoy this night, Padmé! Our wedding night!"

     Padmé looked at her room solemnly, noticing that it smelled of _him_, that combination of pure beauty, strength, and oceans. She also noticed the earnest, disappointed shake of his head, his slightly panting breaths, and his magnificent half-naked sculpture of a body. Her eyes could not bear to see his…

     "But, now I've made a mistake."

     The harsh words brought her back to reality. It was now her turn to ask the questions.

     "What?"

     He sneered menacingly. "A mistake, my _dearest_. This—you and I—_is_ wrong!"

     "Anakin, don't say something you will regret," she pleaded half-heartedly. He did not even soak in her words.

     "In the beginning," he began as he made his way past her and to the door, "you were an angel. Then, you were a goddess"—his hand was on the switch to open the door—"but now, my Padmé," he said, "now, you are—"

     "No, don't, Anakin!" she screamed. He released a dry, sarcastic chuckle, grabbed his sheer Jedi tunic, and exited the room, leaving her deserted, shaking, and furious.

     _So be it…_

***

MIDDLE.


	4. Salve of Heaven

"Those Pretty Wrongs That Liberty Commits…"

Archive: Fanfiction.net

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: _Star Wars_ and all its characters belong to George Lucas and company. I only use them for entertainment purposes.

***

Salve of Heaven 

"Nor Love…"

***

     The next few days were a tumultuous, painful time for Padmé. Finally, her Senatorial duties were calling, waiting to be heard and completed. The Clone Wars, she heard, were now beginning, and the clone army she had tried so hard to fight against was in full action, with a million more units in the early future. She remembered hearing the news from the Twi'lek Senator Orn Free Taa, a massive creature horrendously colored in a pale blue and sporting disgustingly huge tentacles on his head. She also vaguely recalled his yellow, pointy teeth and his Twi'lek aides at his side. In all honesty, Padmé had been disgusted by his appearance and his scratchy voice she had heard so many times before. 

"M'Lady," he had said to her. "Grave news."

"Yes, Lord Taa?" she asked him rather alarmed because he never contacted her.

"A Clone War is beginning, m'lady," he explained, "and the army you voted against in now fighting." 

Her grave eyes gave way to a bitter look. She steadied her breath and maintained order in all ways possible. Orn Free Taa seemed to look at her strangely as he watched her compose herself over the holograph, but refused to say anymore. He heard her thank him and then she switched the holograph off quickly, almost as if she did not wish to hear anymore. 

     Her dealings with the beautiful Anakin Skywalker were limited. She rarely, if ever, saw him, and when she did, she merely caught a simple glimpse of his grave face. She could not help but notice the sudden changes he had undergone in the week after their horrible fight. He no longer smiled childishly like he used to; instead, he maintained a somber, rather eerie expression, devoid of any real emotion. His voice had become an oddity, his presence a ghost. Though he still stood as tall as ever, he appeared to slump a bit, as if he carried a heavy burden upon his wide, powerful shoulders. His eyes, once full of bubbling laughter and sensual flirtation, were now dead and unsmiling, lacking the once visible brightness he used to easily express. And it _was_ true what the scientists had told him: the skin was growing rapidly across the metal surface, only needing the tips of his fingers before completion. He was a bit paler, a bit skinnier… in all truth, a bit _dead_. After the fateful fight he had shared with the love of his life, he moved out of his designated quarters and ordered new ones, which, he explained, "had to be as far away from his Lady's as possible." Much to Padmé's disgust, she granted her permission and then discovered that the quarters he chose were floors and floors above her, in a secluded area she did not even remember existing. She caught a glimpse of him once when he appeared for dinner and was delighted when he sat across from her and began eating. But soon afterwards, he stood up from the table and left her alone without so much as an excuse, his food half-eaten, his glass still cold from the barely melting ice. She vaguely remembered watching the setting sun's rays play with the liquid.

     Padmé felt an emotional death coming on swift wings. Slowly and tirelessly, her soul was beginning to burn away from existence, leaving behind an empty shell of a once proud woman. Though she still held her exceptional, timeless beauty, the presence she once had total grasp of was fading away with the same speed it was taking for her soul to burn away. Yet, despite it all, she still held her extraordinary strength—and pride—strength so powerful that it helped her survive. This strength stopped her from breaking down; this strength helped her complete her demanding tasks; this strength completely halted her from apologizing. It seemed to her that the thought of apologizing for the truth was a bit preposterous, but the ache was beginning to convert itself into serious damage…

     Her thoughts were shaken when she heard the 'swoosh' of her doors opening. She quickly looked up to find a tanned face, a uniformed body, and a ready smile. For once in a long time, Padmé smiled sincerely and genuinely.

     "Captain Typho!" she said warmly. The captain across from her returned her smile with the same warmth. He bowed formally and she widened her already large smile.

     "As much as I appreciate your warmness towards me, Senator, I can't say that I am the guest of choice." 

     "Really?" she remarked, curiosity edging itself into her face. He affirmed her question by nodding his fine mop of hair.

     He moved aside and let the other figure he was there to present appear.

     Padmé's eyes widened.

     "DORMÉ!" she shouted ecstatically. With child-like innocence, Padmé ran up to the silent woman and hugged her, finally eliciting an excited squeal. Dormé hugged her back with as much fervent, her repressed tears falling upon Padmé's fine black robe. Both women stood there like excited young girls, simply enjoying each other's company. Respectfully, Captain Typho crisply saluted, bowed, and left the company of the two women with a shy smile on his dark, thick lips. 

     "Oh, m'lady, how I've missed you!" Dormé exclaimed, her arms hugging a bit tighter around Padmé. "It's been too long, I fear." Dormé broke the embrace after a moment of silence passed between them. She took her time to survey her mistress, and was quite surprised when she discovered that Padmé was lacking her usual bright luster. Dormé's eyes flew to narrow a bit, and her brows furrowed in a most uncomely way. She knew her Lady to be extremely serious, but not at all unhappy. Padmé was a woman who enjoyed her tasks as a Senator and never expressed her dislike of them. Therefore, what was the problem? What was occurring? _I left for two weeks and now my Lady is falling to pieces_. Worry was creeping into Dormé's eyes.

     Padmé looked up at Dormé and said, "What's wrong Dormé? Is there something wrong?"

     Finally, all the components that Dormé was questioning seemed to come together in a distinctively neat package swathed in Nubian clothes and possessing striking features. Indeed, her lady was not the same woman she had seen only a mere two weeks before. She was now a hollow version of her former self, a pseudo Padmé clothed in exquisite fabrics. She had been informed of the marriage through the idle gossip of the house servants and despite the initial shock that lasted roughly 0.2 seconds, she was in the general vicinity of happiness for her Lady. But there was this estrangement about her…

     "M'lady, is there something you're not telling me?" asked Dormé, sincerity lining her brown eyes.

     Padmé looked up, her eyes wide saucers of surprise. "Um," she mumbled, "I don't think so." She presented her words tentatively, almost as if they hurt.

     "M'lady," Dormé warned, "there must me. You're acting strange, sad… Just tell me."

     Padmé avoided Dormé's gaze for a while, staring instead at the various treatises, bills for the Senate, and letters of worry from her numerous colleagues. She steadied her otherwise busy hand, breathed in rather shakily, and closed her pretty brown eyes momentarily. _What if Dormé's knows nothing? And the secret of my marriage? Anakin? _The thoroughly evil thoughts ran through her mind, causing quite a bit of emotional stress. Dormé noticed her Lady's condition soon enough and walked over to her side, the lush carpet effectively muting the sound of her footsteps. She kneeled like she had done so many times before, softened her otherwise harsh façade, and took hold of her Lady's soft hand within her own. Padmé looked at her with a sad, waning smile, and Dormé replied with a bright, happy grin resplendent of the Naboo sunshine and beauty.

     Dormé waited patiently, a serene look upon her very pretty face. _I just want the truth, Lady,_ she told herself inwardly. _That is all I want._ Despite the closeness of both women, Padmé remained silent, her eyes expressing her pain. Dormé squeezed her hand for comfort.

     "I know of the wedding, Lady," she prompted, hoping that would relieve the tension. Padmé's eyes widened and her lips pursed in response. A tiny sound escaped her throat; as if she were trying to speak but her mouth was clamped shut. Dormé waited the ordeal out and shook her head in affirmation when her Lady shot her a look of disbelief. Admittedly, the tension was relieved somewhat after a few harsh minutes, the silence and the disquietude remained quite adamant. 

     "I'm happy for you, Lady," Dormé quipped happily. "Oh so happy! You are finally a wife, Lady, a woman of true happiness. And if Lord Anakin is the man who has brought you such mirth, oh so be it! So be it, Lady!" she exclaimed joyously, tears streaming down her eyes.

     A few moments of tension… "Oh, Dormé!" Padmé finally cried out, her arms flying to grab her handmaiden in a tight embrace. "Thank you, my dear friend, thank you." 

     The next instances were filled with a few good cries and a detailed explanation of the wedding. Dormé needed no explanation of the circumstances: she was quite aware of a Jedi's commitment to the Order, and she understood Anakin's immense and passionate love for Padmé. But then there was her Lady's hidden sadness, sadness so strong that it was breaking away from a perfectly manufactured façade. 

     "My Lady," Dormé began, her tone somber and moody. Padmé's reaction was to look up at her usually shy bodyguard with a blank stare.

     "Yes?"

     "In my training as a handmaiden, I've learned to act like you, speak like you; I've been molded to look appear like you, to replicate your mannerisms. In that sense, then, I have become a tiny bit like you." She breathed in sharply after taking in her Lady's incredulous look. "But now, using whatever strength or weakness that has provided, I know that you hide something from me. I can tell from just looking at your troubled eyes or your disturbed figure. Something terrible or overly exciting is bothering you on a most severe level. And I—not just as your handmaiden, Lady, but as your _friend_—would like to know."

     The incredulous look died away, leaving in its wake eyes that were fearful and embarrassed. With a weary sigh, Padmé motioned her friend to sit by her, padding the soft cushion on the plush divan. Dormé dutifully followed the order and sat, her ears pricked from interest.

     "Well, Dormé, I don't know where to begin."

     Dormé smiled and offered a quiet, "Then from the beginning, Lady."

*

     Padmé found him one dusking day in front the great stone balustrade facing the dining area. She had just been walking by, heading to her study in order to review the bill for peace she would present to the arguing Senate in the next few months. Her hair had been a mess of light curls that fell all about her, settling comfortably on her lower back and stomach. Her simple garment was a thin, delicate robe devoid of adornment; instead, the beauty lay in the simplicity. She discovered his taut form purely by accident, an accident, she realized, that she thoroughly appreciated. She stood by large double doors, watching him in his meditation, mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the scene in front of her. The rays of the sun appeared to glorify his lithe form, hitting his tanned skin in the most perfect of places. She missed him terribly—and at that point, she was trying to find anything that would bring her closer to him.

     She slowed her breath and moved forward, her feet uncovered after leaving her slippers in the hall. Her graceful movements held a twitch of excitement of the events to come. As she neared him, her smile widened.

     "Leave me," came the sudden declaration. 

     Padmé stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening in pure and utter shock. Her arms fell limply at her sides in a gesture of helplessness, a gesture she had not repeated in countless days. Her breath came in short gasps for a few seconds, but then her internal control mechanism began its assault upon her body in a most furious manner. She squared her fine jaw, straightened her slumping posture, and raised her head up high, her brows following suit. _'Leave me?' _

"Your presence disturbs me."

     _Stop! Stop! Please, stop!_ she screamed within her. His callousness towards her was a crushing blow to her soul. Anakin was a compassionate creature that had once loved her to the ends of the Universe, a man capable of the sweetest actions and words. But now—but now, she realized, he was also capable of evil, malevolent actions, actions that caused her pain beyond the physical repercussion. 

     "Before," she began, "my presence soothed you."

     "Not anymore," he told her without hesitation and without thought.

     The tear unexpectedly left her right eye. "So be it, then."

     Padmé walked back, never noticing Anakin's sudden physical change. After she left, his knees buckled under him and he crashed to the floor elegantly, his knees making contact with the harsh surface. His face was a torrent of emotions that eventually manifested themselves into hot tears that coursed down his reddening cheeks. That phrase—that damned phrase—had been the most cruel thing he had ever said to anyone… and they had now become words that he could not take back, no matter how much he tried. Unconsciously, his hand crashed against the natural concrete.

     In her study, Padmé shut the door with a crash. She threw herself upon the first available piece of furniture—a chair—and cried… cried like she had never cried before in her life.

*

     "He's leaving, m'lady."

     A rustle of skirts; a muffled cry. 

     "Leaving? Where? From whom did you hear this?"

     The room is crossed by padded feet; a gentle figure sits on the nearby sofa. A stuttering breath ensues.

     "Captain Typho had informed me of his plans, albeit quietly, of course." A nervous chuckle. "He plans to leave Naboo for Coruscant at the end of the week."

     A rustle of papers is heard as a delicate hand grips them savagely, despite the cool mask the owner wears. 

     "He will _not _leave. I'll make sure the staff in charge of landing and deployment do not grant him permission!" Her voice takes on an edgy tone.

     The moment afterward is spent in silence between both women. One ponders how to state her revelation, the other sits comfortably at her desk, working on and straightening her now disheveled papers. One wears a worried expression; the other displays a smug smile.

     "It is… of no matter," the gentle voice of the handmaiden explains. Her Lady shoots her head up and narrows her eyes after digesting the intruding piece of information. 

     "Care to explain?"

     "According to Captain Typho, Lord Anakin has taken it upon himself to rebuild an old fighter starship of approximately ten years ago. He—"

     "The yellow ones?"

     "Yes. That way, when he leaves, no one will know. The starships no longer exist in the Naboo database."

     The edgy tone returns. "Then program them back into the damned program!" 

     The handmaiden shakes her head sorrowfully.

     "It would take too long… and I think Captain Typho might sympathize with Lord Anakin on a few levels, thus helping him leave."

     "Does Typho know of my situation?"

     "No, Lady, he does not." No hesitation in the answer.

     The conversation ends with two fists hitting a glass desk.

*

     _Leaving…_

_     Leaving…_

_     Like a coward._

_     I am, quite possibly, the biggest fool that has ever landed in this Universe. My whole life has been damned by my duties and my personal life has become an empty void filled with uncertain darkness. But when Anakin emerged, the void began to fill slowly until I acknowledged my undying love for him. Then, the world was no longer a gray existence but a happy ordeal worthy of recognition. _

_     Then the Wedding…_

_     Then the Wedding Night…_

_     Then the Pain… Anger…_

_     And finally…_

_     I have no answer. Life is no longer simple—or enjoyable. With joy must come pain, right? It is… a most sadistic poetic justice, I fear. The man who became the love of my life also became the bane of my existence, I've noticed. To me, it is of no matter who first started the argument…_

_     But that is what makes me the biggest fool in the Universe! It was I—ME—who began this painful ordeal. The simple word "repulsion" was what set this disgusting little game of pain in motion. My extreme fear of intimacy pushed me to blurt out words that I did not mean… and my dear, wonderful, selfless Anakin gave me a chance to explain, to rearrange my thoughts without the need of apologizing. The chance was right there in front of me—in my damned face—and what did I do?_

_     By the highest gods and the almighty Force, I simply kept going! _

_     I hurt him—hurt him beyond human comprehension. _

_     The absolute PAIN that I feel now—did he feel that?_

_     That mental ANGUISH I have to live with—did he have to live with that, too?_

_     They say, "Two wrongs don't make a right." But, in all honesty, he did nothing wrong. I DID. I committed the crime…_

_     And now I must suffer._

_     SUFFER._

*

Interlude: Dormé's Trials 

     No longer did the once beautiful pair who had once strode out among the gardens and frolicked in the fields see one another. Anakin threw himself completely in evacuating Naboo and leaving it behind forever, and Padmé finished her bills for the Senate, answered all of her callings, and once again became the Senator with no personal life worthy of mention.

     The end of the week had come quickly enough. Dormé looked about her helplessly each and every day, noticing the silence of the resort with sadness. The way her mistress was acting was beyond true belief and Anakin's doings left her at a loss for words. In order to prove the point to herself, she had sat herself on the hall divan resolutely, determined to watch the proceedings about her. Unfortunately for her, the day had been wasted on her resolution, and no change had occurred. No words had been exchanged except for the occasional offer for a drink from the resort waitresses and nothing exciting had happened. Dormé had not even heard tears leaking from someone's eyes or cries of pain from someone else. There had merely been a silence that had encompassed her completely, a silence so tense that she felt that it was about to explode and push two certain people over the edge.

     Well, at least her.

     She had tried to initiate contact with both parties—she was promptly greeted with refusals. It appeared that they knew what she was trying to do and they wanted no part of it, sadly enough. After a few days, Dormé simply tired of her trials and settled—albeit uncomfortably—against the silent backdrop of her Lady's home. After she had witnessed the refusals both Padmé and Anakin offered, she gave up completely and instead became the soundless observer of the conflicts and the aftermath. She had beheld Anakin's excessive fury at finishing the ship and had seen Padmé's nonchalant response. Eventually, she felt that nothing could salvage the already dead relationship.

*

     _Smile! The world is watching…_

He was leaving today, she knew. The full realization came when Dormé entered her office and placed a cup of steaming liquid in front of her.

     "What's this?" she remembered asking.

     "Something to help you sleep," Dormé explained as she turned to leave.

     "But I _have_ been sleeping," she responded. 

Dormé turned to her, handed her a sad smile filled with regret. 

"It won't be that simple after Lord Anakin leaves."

When Dormé left and the doors closed behind her, Padmé's eyes refused to focus on the tasks at hand. She knew perfectly well the affairs of the day—she had known for days that Anakin would…

"Leave me today."

Helplessly and innocently, she looked about her large study. She noticed the soft ruffle of the thin curtains covering her glass panes and the way the excess fabric draped itself on the spotless floor in the most dramatic of ways. Her eyes fell on the neutral colors of her furniture: the muted grays, the luxurious browns, and the resplendent whites that colored her chairs, sofas, and all-essential divan. 

They went well with the billowy curtains of the room.

They really did.

She growled in true, gritty frustration. Her head, lulled from emotion exhaustion, fell gently on the desk, atop the papers, holo screens, and other unimportant pieces of information in various mediums. She rested there, letting the time slip by, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Her hands, usually still by her side, worked furiously as they clenched and unclenched the material of her dress. She just lay there, a quiet figure of broken grace and disheveled life.

At first, it was a simple sob, some hated sound that had escaped her throat. It continued this way until it became short gasps of air that related to small cries. The woe was evident and the grief hung in the air life a thick veil. 

"Leaving," she whispered. "Leaving." 

Her sobs evolved into urgent cries. Her head was no longer on the desk and her hands were no longer clenching her dress, but the edge of the desk as she helped herself stand from her comfortable chair. When her knees no longer buckled beneath her, she stood and supported herself fully. She dried her tears, straightened her elaborate dress, and headed to her door. With a shaky breath, she waited for the doors to open. When they finally did, she looked about her and found no one. Her feet began a series of quick movements that led to a mad dash in the direction of the hangar. 

The smoke of the liquid billowed throughout the atmosphere until it disappeared into a clear nothingness. The sudden movements of its owner caused it to rumble suddenly against the fixed glass of the desk and then fall and shatter into thousands of porcelain shards.

As she ran like a madwoman, her pastel-green dress billowed about her, creating the illusion of a finely dressed angel in light jade. Her determination urged her to continue racing against time, to maintain her constant speed and reach her destination. She was ready to break down, apologize for all the anguish she caused, and live in joy with her chosen love. 

She recognized the high, vaulted ceilings and the luminous lights of the hangar. She smiled for the first time in several days, and caught her gasping breath. Always busy, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, fiddled with her stray hairs until they remained in their rightful place, and rearranged her rather simple headdress, a strange weave of a fine, pale silk, embellished with decadent pearls and precious gems. _All I want is to have him back. All I want…_

Padmé remained silent as she entered the hangar. It was relatively empty except for a few scattered ships on the far right and a single human being working madly, arranging a crimson-colored R4-P unit within a vibrant yellow starship. _There he is_, she reminded herself. _He is so beautiful._ She grinned as he grunted in frustration at an obtrusive package that would not budge. Once again he worked bare-chested and she noticed that his muscles had defined considerably. 

Despite his nonchalance at her entrance, Anakin had noticed her overwhelming presence. Her existence simply washed over him like a fine ocean wave, and the Force only added to the intensity. But he continued working, using the colors as a distraction: anything so as not to notice her completely. It was hard enough living within her shadow, knowing that all that he saw in the resort belonged to her: that she had touched the very same utensils he used when eating, that she had slept on the same sheets, that she had smelled the same fine air in the glorious mornings. He considered his situation to be harder than the usual problems he faced—he usually did not have to ignore the very being he loved and was completely infatuated with. _An oxymoron_, he decided, _a complete and utter oxymoron. How else can I describe it?_ His decision to go to Coruscant had been a rash, bold choice, a desperate way to rid himself of the empty life he was living now. It was an escapist's choice, a strange choice… the choice of an ordinary person, not a Jedi. He sighed deeply at the very thought of losing his place among the Order. _Hopefully, not all is gone. It may take some begging, some groveling…_ He shook the morbid thoughts out of his head and returned to his present distraction.

Padmé surveyed her situation with as much rationality as possible. _How in the world am I going to approach this accursed situation? _In some way or another, she had to apologize profusely, convince Anakin to remain on Naboo with her, and find some way to smooth the matter over. _But I CAN'T pretend this hasn't happened!_ she growled mentally. It _had_ happened, and she could not deny such a fact. It was a stepping stone on their path to happiness, she concluded, a path that she and Anakin had to tread once again. 

_Breathe, breathe, breathe, BREATHE! You must survive this stage of the game in order to proceed. You MUST!_

"Don't go." 

Those two words, simple in nature, caused him to stop his work completely and tense up horribly. His muscles refused to function at the sound of her voice—they were thrilled at the underlying tone of true desperation and need. Anakin knew that he did not have to inform Padmé of his plans, but her audacity—her pure, Senatorial boldness—placed him in a momentary session of emotional shock. There she was, the goddess that had haunted his very thoughts, telling him not to go. He turned to her in an exquisitely slow manner, his blue eyes boring into hers with as much intensity as he could muster. Padmé could clearly watch the languorous moments he deliberately took to make her life a bit more hellish in nature. He merely stared at her, silent and ready as a fox to pounce on her words. _Oh_, she told herself internally, _I almost forgot how beautiful his eyes were._ Padmé remained in her place, refusing to move, her body nervous but admittedly excited at the same time. She had not seen him in so long that he had almost become a ghost in her mind, a memory that would eventually fade away with some work. Now, there she stood, resolute in making him stay and prepared to take the necessary measures. _It does not matter anymore what I have to do. I'll do whatever you want, Anakin. Just stay. Just stay._

She mustered a tiny smile, but her refusal to avert her gaze was strange. Both figures stood there, as immovable as the very floor they stood, staring at one another with unreadable looks. But the situation—the situation was strange, a confusing conundrum of irony. She had been waiting for weeks to seem him, embrace him, and love him, but instead she stood there, wordless and waiting for his next move. All her strength had resulted in a battle without weaponry and bloodshed. But it mattered not, she decided. She was there, prepared to take on whatever she had to in order to make him stay.

The hangar was filled and choking her with an eerie hush reminiscent of death. Minutes had passed since her declaration; he had done nothing but look at her, a blank, rather odd expression on his face, as if he expected more from her. She pursed her luxuriant lips in an almost unnoticeable movement.

"Don't go," she repeated, the desperate tone slightly more present in her intonation. But now, Anakin responded with narrowed eyes filled with doubt, a posture exuding total relaxation, and a disturbing aura of question. 

Padmé released an exasperated but hushed growl. She was not achieving the result she wanted! Petulantly, she scolded herself mentally for not fulfilling her original goals. By now, he should have been speaking, declaring his undying love for her, begging for her forgiveness! It was either that or trying to maintain his temper or childishly complaining about their situation. Instead, her ears were assaulted with the stillness of the room.

He did nothing but stare, though at this point in time his expressions ranged from bemused to confused. She tentatively took a step forward and sighed, her dress dragging behind her annoyingly. "Speak to me," she said plainly.

That did it! He broke his hypnotic gaze and chuckled, the sarcasm evident in his voice. "I remembered asking you the same thing not so long ago." Anakin quickly his ceased his sarcastic snigger, letting the room fill to the brim with the irony of the situation. 

_All right, I deserved that. But he is being so incredibly cold that I'm wondering if it's him. I just pray that it is not. _After her consideration, she nodded her head in acknowledgement of her obvious folly as a form of response. She strode forward very slowly, her steps a bit loud on the permacreet. Though he appeared not to care, his nonchalant attitude was breaking away from him, for now he watched every single movement she made: from the nervous flicker of her fingers to her clenches.

"Are you asking me not to leave?" he offered, his voice neutral and lacking any remote feeling. Excitement began to course through his veins, but he hid it from her watchful gaze. He knew that she was begging for some type of change. 

"No," she stated without any particular tone.

No response; more silence.

"I'm begging you."

He grinned ruefully when he turned to work on the ship. _She's begging me to stay, to remain here with her._ His response did not come in the generous fraction of time she granted him.

_This is not going too well_, she admitted to herself. She had bared her soul to him and received nothing in return. Padmé thought that nowadays baring one's soul actually _meant_ something. "Anakin?" she asked as she watched him configure some schematics on the ship. "You and I have to speak. Give me time to explain."

He momentarily stopped his work and directed the circular wrench directly at her, his face unreadable. "Time, Lady, I do not have," he declared. "I must to leave for Coruscant as soon as possible. I have business to take care of."

Padmé cocked a fine eyebrow. "I don't understand…" she told him, "Coruscant? But this"—she pointed to herself and to his fine body—"must be taken care of. There are… things I need to say."

"Why?" he responded, his question pure mockery. "I thought we settled this nights ago." His hands stopped flying over the controls and irritation was creeping into his voice. The memories were a painful reminder to the Senator, and she tried her best to keep herself from turning away from the otherwise fruitless conversation. She closed her eyes in order to hide the burning anger and disappointment she was harboring at that very moment. She held her hands up, the gesture of peace a hopeful plea for understanding.

"I made a huge mistake," she said. "A mistake beyond my comprehension." Anakin began to notice the familiar tone she used when trying to convince other Senators, her ramrod-straight posture, the tilt of her fine neck. Nonetheless, she continued, oblivious to her words. "A mistake so great that I disregarded your feelings and selfishly tried to keep mine inside. I fully understand—"

Anakin furrowed his brow in aggravation. "You sound like a Senator!" he spat angrily. "I am not some Senator that you're trying to rally for your cause, Padmé! I am—!" He did not finish his sentence in the futile struggle to find the correct word for what he was to her. _I ceased being her husband since she declared that I repulsed her. _Gingerly, he picked up the pool of brown material from the floor and placed it upon his smooth upper body. 

It was now Padmé's turn to narrow her serious brown eyes in question. "Excuse me?"

The sigh he released from his lips was extremely weary. "I am busy. Please, leave me. I must get to Coruscant as soon as possible. You are hindering my progress."

"Coruscant, Anakin?" she asked curiously. "Why? There is nothing there for you."

His look became a bit bewildered. "The Jedi Order, Padmé, the Order! I live for it! It is my life!" His tone was hesitant and hurried, angered but calmed.

Padmé considered her words. _This is making no real sense to me. Coruscant? _Her next words, unfortunately, were not a wise choice in her present situation.

"But," she began quietly, "you are no longer a Jedi."

As soon as she spoke, she regretted her words. In the brief seconds it took Anakin to register what she had said, an explosion of shock occurred. It was a singular experience of complete realization—not a true epiphany, but as close as she would ever get. Her eyes widened, her body tensed, and her face flushed a bright shade of a pearly pink. 

"Not a Jedi?" he stated, his voice terse. She could see the greenish veins popping out of his neck. "By the Force, woman, how many times can you infuriate me in such a short time?! How dare you, Padmé? I AM A JEDI!" he yelled, the sound ringing from the thick walls. "I will always be! And you or that Council cannot take that away from me." He shook his head, trying to calm himself despite his obvious fury. The animosity was beginning to take shape between them, and the angry rush of adrenaline was flowing through him. _I can't believe her! _He looked at her and noticed her thoroughly sorry expression, but it was not enough for him. He wanted—he needed—more than what she was giving him at the moment. 

"But you can't leave!" she urged him.

Anakin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh, really?" he asked her, more mockery in his voice. "You _must_ know that I am _not_ your husband and I am _not_ obligated to stay."

     Padmé shut her eyes in anguish. "No, Anakin, stop! You _are_ my husband. I don't want to argue with you!" Her pleas were falling on deaf ears. 

     "You are a Senator, Lady! You _know_ that under the eyes of the holy Naboo law, you and I must have consummated the marriage in order for it to be legal. The last time I checked, I spent my wedding night in despair over your repulsion of me!"

Padmé had reached her own personal point of dismay. This was becoming something futile and useless; her heart was breaking, and the shards were separating from their rightful places. _I know what I said! I know. He is no longer a Jedi… he can't be. He married me._ _It was he who kissed me after they declared us HUSBAND and WIFE. But now… but now… I am no longer sure. Now, he's an angry monster trying to hide his feelings by escaping to a world he no longer belongs to! _

Her eyes began a light glaze, and indicative that she was on the verge of tears. "You know what?" she asked him. His beautiful visage calmed itself slightly when he focused on her. "I came here to apologize to you, Anakin." The stress was evident in her voice. "I came here to do what I had to do in order to keep you near me. I would have taken _any means necessary_, and it wouldn't have mattered." Her jaw muscles were slackening and she strained to maintain control over her the developing sob. "But… it doesn't matter! And now I understand. Therefore, leave." She used the silence as a form of emphasis for her next declaration.

"But if you leave, please make sure you never return."

She turned from him and soothed the imaginary wrinkles on the flawless fabric of her dress. The tears finally fell, clear droplets of salty liquid that carved their journey down her porcelain skin. _At least I'm not sobbing_, she told herself. _That's true strength. _She knew she had left him in shock over her request, but, for the first time in a very long period of time, she had not cared. All that mattered right then and there was the simple fact that she had gotten the last word.

He watched her walk away with true sadness filling his soul. Only the Force knew how much he wanted her, and how much he really needed her. But he was not above keeping his pride. In the Order, he learned to have pride in himself and to appreciate his worth: when he had been a slave, he had learned that self-worth was reserved for those who were free and successful. After he was recruited, he was educated in the values of the human life, and educated in the value of oneself. True, he loved her beyond comparison and he would have done anything she wished, but after her nasty refusal, his pride kicked in heavily and left her out of his perfect picture. Before, he had imagined them together in a loving relationship, raising a respectful family, and enjoying the benefits of being with one another. After their horrible argument, his image morphed beyond recognition. It now included him as a powerful Jedi Knight, wise beyond his years, and recognizable throughout every known galaxy. _And I have to get to Coruscant in order for it to come true._

The steps were fading from his hearing radius. "I have loved you since I could understand what love was." Her steps abruptly stopped as she turned. "And when I married you, I was finally complete." He smiled bitterly as she looked at him, the curiosity gnawing at her. He sighed remorsefully as he recommenced his former discussion. "But I don't think you understand where I'm coming from, Padmé."

"Yes I do, Ana—"

"No," he said as he interrupted her. "I don't want you to think that my—that my—oh, what's the word?" he asked himself. "That the _importance _I gave it was to garner physical favor. You know perfectly well that I would never do that because I love you too much to do such a thing." Padmé could not help but smile through her tears. He smiled briefly, but then sobered quickly. "My love for you is beyond true comprehension, Lady. When I saw you again and I recognized your budding love for me, I took advantage of the situation and I bonded to you emotionally, so much so that it scared me a few times." His voice was a soothing salve of serenity and pacification. She watched him, mesmerized. "When two people like us marry, Padmé, it is because their love has reached a new level, a level that requires more than just emotional understanding. I _thought_ I had reached that level with you—a level that needed physical bonding as much as emotional. Do you understand me now?" She cocked her head, smiled with a bit of embarrassment, and nodded. "When you refused me, you refused our emotional understanding as well as my immense love for you. That was why I was so hurt, Padmé. I ignored you in order to gain some semblance of former sanity, but trust me, I suffered beyond true belief."

Padmé's tears began their paths again, but she did not walk away. She took her steps towards him again, her grin bright and smiling. "I just want you to know then that I did not want to refuse you. In fact, that was foolish of me! It was just that everything that happened was taking its toll on me. I began to fear the intimacy because I feared the aftermath. But the Force only knows how much I cried over you, Anakin."

He nodded his head in understanding. Padmé caught a mischievous glint in his pretty eyes. "So," he said, "if I took you right now, on the floor, you would not worry or refuse me."

Her pleasant laugh filled his ears. "No." 

Padmé considered his challenge seriously. They had obviously resolved their problem, but the physical act had no occurred yet. She could not deny that after their argument he had become extremely and uncommonly sexually attractive to her, and her fantasies provided proof. She remembered her reaction after she had seen him training with his lightsaber. A fine sheet of sweat had covered his body, and his glow was almost godly in the light. She swore she would have done something if it had not been for the intense concentration he had displayed. But what about now? The problem had its solution, he was happy and she was happy. He did not look expectant at the moment: in fact, he was avoiding her gaze by cleaning his area of work. Padmé watched him work, her eyes following every curve of muscle he possessed. __

_I guess there's only one thing to do…_

***

END.


End file.
